


It's All or Nothing For You

by HereforThis



Series: Anarki [2]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm going overboard but what a ride, M/M, Part Two, Sexytimes, This is what happens when you get a crack idea in the middle of writing, angst and fluff because the balance must be maintained, bottom dark, seriously did you know there are songs for these boys, still more references to other fics and works in the fandom, sue me for being a sucker for the control freak finally giving up control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 11:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20435426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereforThis/pseuds/HereforThis
Summary: Months after their initial meeting, and only a week or so after their last hateful hookup, Dark gets into a fight he can't win. Anti plans to take full advantage. And no, of course he won't catch any feelings along the way...





	1. Split

**Author's Note:**

> I realize those tags are defensive. It's senior year at uni, currently 1:30 am, so I'm sorry (I'd rather debate disagreements than Fight, or fend off everyone suing me). I love this fandom and this platform. I just want to share headcanons and such with y'all. Once again 3rd person narration centered on character POVs.

On the boundary between worlds, a fight to the death takes place. 

The demon dimension is always full of seething rage and roiling grudges. Lust for power gleams in each inky eye. For most, settling into lower ranks is lucky. Survival comes before pride, always. But one of them had forgotten this. They wanted more. 

Red and blue light flares in the field as lightning strikes the earth. Storm clouds clash overhead, thunder echoing across the miles of open grasslands. The rain penetrates to the bone, chilling and soaking. Howling wind tears at the two forms battling it out. Burnt black circles of land percolate the area from previous bolts, shadows in the grey timeless light. The view in the mortal realm is that of two men, but the Upside Down shows them for what they are, overlapping into reality. A swirling mass of storm, lightning zapping through it like nerve endings, black eyes peering from the chaos. And a suited man with ashen skin and sunken eyes, auras flickering around him.

Dark is drenched. He skids back a few yards as another blast rockets into the protective shield he throws in front of him, the shield cracking. A low snarl escapes him as he rakes his hair back from his face and scrubs his eyes with a sleeve. Ever since Mark and Jack made that god damned Dark versus Anti collab video with every YouTuber they could scrape together, human belief and imagination poured into newer forms. Ridiculous ones at times, like the one who controlled bears. Bears! Stupid animals one could toss and break easily. The video made mockery of demons, the boys retaliating for Anti and Dark’s actions months prior. 

Others had appeared before the storm. The anxious one, the hopeless one, those who were easy to coerce into service. But this one, some insignificant creature made from TJSith or some shit, is an amalgamation. A nature demon that retreated into the sky long ago combined the new fuel with old power to make a solid shape, right in the middle of Dark’s domain. And this storm (Dark decides to call him TJ for laughs) had been organizing a coup on his rule.

“You’re weak,” TJ says, pressing forward one step at a time. They’d been fighting for days, this battle brewing with the weather. Dark agreed to meet him out here because the whole challenge went public and refusing meant surrender. When the conversations turned in circles, he struck first, hard. That was his only advantage, and now with time he lost that. There were others, too. The young rebels who thought a new leader could advance them one more place, becoming second most powerful once the apex authorities were eliminated. Those upstarts lay in crumpled, disintegrating forms around the field. Days one and two. 

Slaying them cost him in strength. He whittled the crowd down to one, but struggles to ward the last fool off. TJ strategically sacrificed the others first, walking refreshed into day three without allowing Dark to even breathe. Deflecting lightning takes all of his focus. TJ’s words push at his concentration. He remembers another voice, another demon that had called him weak, another long and draining fight. And once that’s remembered-

_ No. Lightning. Focus. _

“You wasted your efforts,” Dark replies, redirecting a bolt into the wet, wind-whipped grass. “You could have lived a long life, TJ. Struck when the world ended, taken a place among us.”

“I don’t want a place at your table, old man,” TJ sneers. “I’m making a whole new bracket. And you won’t even get the scraps from that table.” 

The rain falls in torrents, impairing Dark’s vision. The storm lashes hungrily. Bitterness threatens to suffocate him. Didn’t they both have the same goal in the end, only to turn on each other like savage dogs during the wait? Time and time again, Dark has to fight to stay alive, to stay significant. Each time he could lose everything, all his meaning, everything he’s ever worked for, lived for. And for what? For new ‘revolutionaries’ to take out their frustrations? 

_ Stop. Lightning. Focus. _

“Moronic child,” he retorts. His arms are heavy, legs aching from being braced for so long, lungs burning. “You assume respect you haven’t earned.”

“Respect,” TJ scoffs. “The fuck would you know about respect?” He kicks up the wind, air smelling of ozone as his energy builds for another attack. _ Good. _ Get him talking, this is Dark’s element. Already Dark is expanding his doubt, capitalizing on TJ’s fear, making him pause. Then TJ's eyes widen and he shakes his head, dispelling his hesitation. “Fuck you!”

The clouds explode, bearing down on the earth towards one small target. The force of it knocks Dark onto his knees, his cracked shield shrinking closer and closer to his body. _ Damn it! _Manipulation works best when the victim isn’t prepared for it. He had a foothold, but it didn’t stand a chance. He snaps the storm’s fears back at him through his defense. TJ sweats, or maybe that’s the rain, but his face reddens as he visibly strains to push against it. Dark yells in pain, vessels popping, but does not give another inch. He locks eyes with the storm. 

“You,” he says through his teeth, “Will never be anything more than the cowardly scum you are now, as you have always been.” 

The storm wavers. _Close._ Dark plucks other thoughts from him and runs them on a loop. **_You will never be more than second best. This was all a waste. Everyone else is gone and it’s all your fault. Why bother? You failed. You failed because that’s your nature. You’re a pathetic coward who ran away when things got tough. You’re running out of power, and he’s not giving. You will fail. You always do. _**He wins a painful step forward, the storm beginning to buckle under its own pressure system. Behind TJ, lightning flashes, illuminating a figure. The grey light bleeds into green. _So close-green?_

Dark loses his focus. The shield shatters with a loud bang. 


	2. Facets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's WKM theory time! I always thought of this Dark character as a combo of Damien, Celine, Attorney (You), and whatever was inhabiting that house (Dark) that twisted time and space and drove Mark (aka Actor) mad with power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you name all the songs Earworm mangles.

_ Lightning, _ Anti thinks, _ is highly overrated _ . 

Some demon taking form from the stupid Mark/Jack video from July wreaks havoc in America. Normally, Anti wouldn’t care. That’s Dark’s department to worry about. And while they’d had some fun during Jack’s visit back in April, seeing each other in passing for network purposes since, they aren’t...friends. They settled into an unspoken acknowledgement of each other’s existence and the occasional night getting away from humanity. Those nights, they would go out and cause their own havoc. Dark would find some poor thing to ensnare, let Anti have his fun, and then help clean up afterwards. That’s where their fun lies; Dark in the entrapment, Anti in the imprisonment. During the worst days, they’d find each other, saying nothing and reaching for everything, anything. Memories that would make their hosts blush. Adrenaline and rushing blood and hands that crunched bone caressing skin. But they were not friends, and they did not do friend things. Especially not back each other in fights. 

Dark, Anti knew, would have no problem holding his own against those cash crop demons. It wasn’t until after Earworm called Anti during a chill session with Chase that he learned something was wrong. 

Earworm has the unfortunate side effect of getting their words stuck in a loop. They rang up Anti’s phone on an automatic speaker mode while Jack and Gab were out on a date, repeating the words “Rebel rebel, rebel rebel.” Chase plugged his ears to no avail until Anti could get something coherent out of the other demon. “Day three, day three. It’s more than he bargained for and he’s going down swinging. America, America. Goodbye darkness, my old friend.” Earworm hangs up, message apparently delivered. In the background, Jack inexplicably gets  _ The Sound of Silence _ stuck in his head. 

“Fucking Christ,” Anti said. Chase watched his expressions. 

“Who the hell was that?”

“One of the lesser demons from Germany, they’re one of my notification systems,” Anti answered. “I  _ think  _ that made a little sense.”

“What’re you going to do?” the ego asked carefully. 

“I actually don’t fucking know,” was the reply. He got up, striding to his dresser. His knives lay organized on top, and he selected his five favorites to take with him. Jeans will do, shirt will do, grab a jacket and coat, it’s going to rain. “I’ll be back,” he told Chase.

“I mean, it’s fine if you won’t be.” 

“Fuck off, you alcoholic prick.”

And Anti slipped into the Upside Down where distance and time are irrelevant to pop up in the middle of the worst storm American Midwest has seen in years. 

Landlocked like this, a hurricane would be nigh impossible and a tornado more likely. Yet there isn’t a twister when he emerges in the deluge. There’s a huge as fuck, miles upon miles wide lightning storm. The charged air nearly shorts Anti out, jolting him with energy. He feels jittery, as if he’s about to burst, like he should take a run just to burn off the adrenaline. His heart thrums in his chest. 

It isn’t difficult to find the origin of the power. At the center of the storm fifty feet ahead, where a calm eye typically resides, two demons are wrestling for their lives. One of them is a familiar blue, red, and grey. The other is purple and slate, the elements obeying every flick of his hand. The lightning courses through him, a feedback loop of electricity that only loses energy through heat. Not the advertised ‘unlimited’ power but sustaining enough to last a good long while. The target of all that power is Dark. 

As it is, Anti wonders whether it’d be better to let it happen. He isn’t terribly fond of Dark remaining on his throne, particularly after these long months easing him off it. Winning by slaughtering an entire resistance would regress all that, Dark needing to reestablish authority. He’d be an insufferable prick. Not that he isn’t one now, but he’s always on edge after being challenged by egos or other demons. Last time, he bound Anti’s wrists to prove a point about control. As much fun as that was, he’d rather not do it again.

He wanders towards the fight and notices the body count. Demons he recognizes are among them. Hungarian and Ethiopian, Oceanic and Arctic. This wasn’t a localized crew of kids flipping the bird to the system. A lot of them are, yes, but some of them are pretty formidable rank and filers. 

It hits him, suddenly, that it’s incredibly rare to have an equal not actively trying to kill you. An ally. That yeah, Dark can take all of these down, but he won’t make it out of this fight alive if Anti hangs back. And while he knows how to deal with Dark and his power complex, he’d be next on the rebels’ hit list. He loves chaos and causing catastrophes, but can that save him? 

He glitches halfway to the two demons who are still alive. Dark glances over. A burst of light hits him before recognition can. By the next blink, he’s down.  _ Shit.  _ Anti’s primary and secondary blades are in his hands before he can register the feel of the wooden handles, slashing at the black-eyed storm. It whirls around with a scream.  _ Ah, TJ-something or other. _ Another apparition from the video. TJ swerves, identical gashes in each of his shoulders. 

“Antisepticeye,” he gasps, backing a step but narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Anti winks at him. This will be fun. In his peripheral, TJ’s hand moves. Anti transports behind him just as the lightning hits the ground where he stood. “BOOM!” Anti yells in his ear, disappearing again with a giggle. TJ whips around for nothing but another stinging slice down his back. “Missed me, missed me,” Anti sings, voice bouncing around in the wind. Open fields are not his element, and they aren’t Dark’s, yet it’s a new challenge. An exercise. 

“You fucking pansy-ass bitch!” TJ coils, purple electricity condensing into one central point. “Enough with the peekaboo bullshit!”

“Missed me?”

It’s whispered in his other ear. Anti glitches back in front with a laugh, blood on his blades. He draws TJ’s attention, directing him away from Dark’s inert form. “Why are you here?” TJ snaps. 

“I’ve been here the entire time,” Anti grins, flickering wildly in the voltaic air. “Keeping an eye on things.”

“Don’t make me kill you too.” 

Anti appears inches from his face. “Do you think you could?” 

The sum of TJ’s storm funnels downwards, all of Anti’s metal knives conductors into him. Lightning hits with the force of a thousand strikes. The world is blinding white for a few minutes, his veins swelling. He’s a capacitor ready to blow. He very nearly screams out of his skin in favor of pure pixels. TJ runs out of energy first. 

Anti is still standing when TJ’s power taps out, bouncing feverishly in place. All that energy jumping through his systems, firing his nerves, raising his temperature. He gives the shocked shocking demon a wide grin. “Whoo! That’s some good shite.” Then he pounces. 

The storm subsides as TJ’s wails of anguish replace the thunder ringing across the fields. Sick crunches of bone and squishy smacks of sliced sinews fill the air instead of ozone.  _ Let’s see how much blood he can lose. What’s in his chest? Does a storm have a heartbeat? It bleeds, certainly _ . A storm’s blood tastes like metallic rain. The wind dies down with his whimpers. Each of the five knives are put to use, even the most delicate of daggers. Far too much enjoyment is wrought from taking his sweet time to let them go to waste. The water washes most of the blood away, running into the grass as fertilizer. Anti mixes the two liquids together like paint on TJ’s rapidly cooling skin. He draws a smiley face on his collar, a dick on his cheek. As the spark leaves the demon’s eyes, Anti leans forward, losing the smile. 

“The only one who gets to kill Dark is me.”

TJ’s eyes glaze, then he joins the rest of the corpses on the field. 

Anti sighs. Out of playtime. Then he jumps up. _ Fuck, Dark. _ He sheathes the blades and sprints over, glitching in and out of reality in his rush. 

Dark lays on the ground. Not even his chest moves. Anti trips, half falling and half sliding to the sodden grass next to him. Dark can’t actually be dead. He reaches for his neck, intending to feel for a pulse. Something yanks him backwards before he can touch the skin. He transports a few feet, drawing his favorite knife again. 

It’s a woman. She’s small and thin like a pixie, pale with black hair barely brushing her shoulders, but her most striking feature is her red glow. Dark’s red glow. 

“Anti,” she says, her palm already facing him. Her face squinches in distaste. “We had everything perfectly under control until you showed up.”

“We?” His voice cuts out and lags. 

“You distracted us,” a male voice says behind him. Anti scrambles back a step to see them both at the same time. The male looks like Dark, but a softer version. Human, except for the blue light wrapping his figure. The cool condescension Dark always addresses him with is on this one’s face. “Disrupted our focus.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” the woman snarls. 

For a solid minute, Anti stares at the two of them. Then the laughter spills over, enveloping him until there are tears in his eyes. The pair watch him with vastly different looks. He blinks, appearing randomly because he isn’t focused on it. The whole thing reminds him of the voices in that one game, what was it?  _ Escape the Asylum _ . When he can finally breathe again, he glances between the two. “I wasn’t sure you two actually existed, holy balls.” 

“Of course we exist,” the woman scorns. Anti sees it then, the resemblance between her and Dark. Hilarious, hell hath no fury like Dark, and here’s why. 

“Oh, god,” he says, gesturing to them with the knife. “Doesn’t it get awful crowded in there? Damien and Celine, yeah?”

‘Celine’ loses her temper, punching him in the jaw. ‘Damien’ steps between them to pull her back. Anti rolls with it, her sharp fist leaving an equally stinging bruise. Honestly, he expected far worse. She shakes her hand in disgust, TJ’s blood on her knuckles. The sight of these two hits a chord somewhere. Celine is so small and fiery. He wants to scoop her up and banter her pride to pieces. Damien is so collected and superior. He wants to ruin his composure and get past the coolness to his ruin. He wants so many things from them both at the same time. 

He wants Dark. 

“This is all your fault, Anti,” Celine is saying. “Why did you interrupt?”

“Look at you,” he says, eyes drifting to where Dark lays motionless. “You were tapped out.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t ruin our concentration-”

“Anti,” Damien says, cutting her off with a calmer tone. “Why did you come? We never asked for assistance.”

“You’ll never ask for assistance. Doesn’t mean you don’t need it, ya schizo bastard.” He flicks his gaze back to Damien. “Is he-I mean, are you still alive?”

Damien gives Celine a knowing look, mostly to the effect of  _ I told you so.  _ She rolls her eyes, brushing past Anti towards Dark. Her offending shoulder only hits his elbow. “No thanks to you.” She sits herself next to the body, a hand over his heart, and shuts her eyes. Ever the occultist, her lips shape words that used to be buried six feet under out of fear of their meaning. And then she fades away. He’s fascinated by the whole scene, fascinated with these two tragedies. Damien goes to follow.

Anti stops him with a hand on his elbow. “How are you doing that? You’re exhausted, you shouldn’t even have a form right now.”

Damien looks at Anti’s hand uncomfortably long, but Anti doesn’t remove it. “Do you really think we’re it?” he says. Then he too fades away. 

Anti watches the whole thing while his own form buzzes and freaks. He still has so much energy in his system to work out that it drives him nuts to stand here and wait in confusion. Yet wait he does, keeping an eye on things. Dark doesn’t move for a minute. Damien’s words leave more questions than answers in Anti’s head, primarily whether he’ll even wake up. 

A broken gasp for air breaks the spell of stillness as Dark jerks to an elbow, curved defensively on his side. His auras are gone. His makeup was washed away in the rain. Very little color returns to him. Something, maybe disgust, maybe pity stirs in Anti at the sight. Depleted, no makeup, no auras, eyes shut...he looks human. Vulnerable. Powerless.

He puts the knife away, crouching next to him. Dark’s eyes flutter open and 

they’re completely black with a thin ring of dark ruby. Anti digs his nails into his palms to stop the shiver that runs through him.  _ Red. His real eyes are red.  _ The pupils contract as he wildly evaluates Anti and the bodies, slowly returning to normal and lightening back to a deep russet brown, but Anti will never be able to erase that picture from his mind. 

“What the fuck, Antisepticeye?” he croaks, trying and failing to match his usual threatening tone. The brokeness betrays his bravado. 

Anti asks himself the same question. Earlier today, he would’ve let things happen. Earlier this year, he would’ve been the one to cut Dark down. Today, however…

“You won,” he says. He isn’t lying. The evidence is strewn across acres. No one can deny he has the power to raise or raze hell as he chooses. He would've won if Anti hadn't interrupted. Dark’s eyes shut again, heaving for breath and buckling, sinking back onto the ground. Anti observes the leaden limbs, the lack of strength.  _ This is it. _ This is his opportunity. 

Dark’s brown eyes open again, heavy lidded, at the feeling of arms snaking under him. Anti picks him up, his hand weakly bunching Anti’s jacket and his head against his shoulder. The ease at which Anti can contain him feels like a kick to the gut. Dark shouldn’t be this easy to hold. He wishes he could go back in time and take longer tearing TJ apart. Then he chides himself for wishing that. “Let’s get you home.”


	3. Unison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suffer from migraines. It figures I'd self-project something onto one of them. I also favor soft ship things. Debate with me at 2 am at Denny's.

When Dark opens his eyes, a bright yellow and pink lunatic is watching him. 

“Good  _ morning  _ beautiful!” The words screech in his ears. His head, what the fuck happened to him? His brain literally throbs off beat with his heart, unable to put thoughts together. Too many people talk at once, and they’re so  _ loud.  _ His hands squeeze his skull, trying to hold it together. Shut up, shut up,  _ please just shut up-  _

“Calm down, everyone,” Wilford says suddenly. Another hand rests on his temple. The voices quiet, attention redirected from each other. 

The lunatic curing crazy. The world has gone mad. 

No. Just Dark. Of course Celine and Damien would listen to Wil. He was at the center of the conflict, the one thing connecting the siblings and their vessel. He was the first person Dark had seen through his new form’s eyes. He isn't just an ego. Dark still doesn’t know what Wil is after all these years. A remnant, a ghost, who knows? A personality with presence.

“Play nice, children,” he says, for a moment ludacris. “I’ve come to like Dark, so enough with the fighting. You’re all fine.” 

Pressure releases. Dark can think, he can breathe. He’s in his room. Not the space he shares with Mark, but the space he made for himself on the boundary. Celine quiets, anger dissipating under the brief clarity of Wil’s gaze. She had loved him at one point. Damien stops arguing, regaining humility. They’d been best friends. Wil smiles. It isn’t his unhinged grin. It’s reminiscent of when he first came to the house all those years ago. Before Dark started cooing in his mind, reassuring him every step towards evil. Before Dark had awoken in the person Wil shot and mourned over all night, shifting shape between the attorney, the mayor, and the young witch. 

The only one who doesn’t calm down is the body, muscles still wired. Wil was never a comforting presence for it. Dark measures out his breathing to bring his heartbeat back under control.

“Well now,” the not-ego says. His hand falls away, plucking his suspenders. The clarity in his gaze obscures as he steps back, smile growing. “Aren’t  _ you  _ a sight, Darkiboo?” 

“Wil.” He rubs the tension in his temples, gently pulling himself back together. The two people Wil once loved aren’t here anymore. All that remains are the strongest parts of them, their anger, their drives. He’d gotten control after they had their revenge. Yet it’s enough for Wil, he supposes, just to have a part of them close by. 

“I heard  _ you  _ got your ass handed to you in that  _ field, _ ” Wil smirks. “Kudos, kudos, kudos for getting  _ so _ far on your own, though.”

Questions arise. He’s out of his suit, lying in his bed. White shirt, black pants, and a jacket he doesn’t own. He’s been in it a while; he doesn’t notice until he thinks about the jacket’s origin that Anti’s scent surrounds him. Anti, the foolish, enraging cockwaffle that showed up to a fight he wasn’t invited to. 

“Where is he?”

Wil pauses in his plucking, mouth hanging open for a breath. His head shakes, realization dawning on his face. “ _ Ohhhhhh,  _ the loud,  _ glitchy  _ demon with the Irish lilt. He brought you back here, though I thought you never took anyone  _ home  _ with you, so I can’t  _ imagine  _ how he knew where this was and how to get in. Nearly shot him, but-”

“Wil.” Dark sits up, glaring as steadily as he can manage. 

“The others  _ may  _ have stopped by to check on you with me, and Anti  _ may  _ have met Google, and Google  _ may  _ have screamed and started running, which  _ may  _ have entertained Anti to the point of pursuit. So I really don’t know, wherever Google went, probably.” Google meeting a glitch. Of course Anti would find that humorous. 

Dark sighs, putting his head in his hands. He had been outmatched in that fight. Badly outmatched. He could hold a defense and talk someone into giving up, but he still can’t calculate who would’ve outlasted the other. So many were stacked against him, never giving him a chance to retreat or eat, sleep or gain headway. Three days of adrenaline, anxiety, and isolation. He left Mark, using his own shape but losing the energy to maintain it. When the blasts hit him, he couldn’t maintain it anymore, reduced to his basic elements. Out of nowhere, Anti showed up and evidently stole his kill, saving him in the process and returning him home to recuperate. 

He knows his anger is more directed at himself than Anti. He shouldn’t have gone in like that, one demon against a horde. He meant to preserve a principle, but is it still preserved if Anti interfered? Who else knows the outcome of the battle? What will he do if other demons learn about his loss? Question his authority? He’s so weak now. He’s tired. He’s exhausted, and not only because fighting for his life takes a lot from him, but because of the battle after TJ died. He has to fight just to keep himself - his fragments - together. 

Trying to remember what happened between falling and waking here causes another splitting headache. Dark cannot live two different experiences at the same time. Three if being unconscious and not breathing counts. Yet the knowledge still filters through that Anti had been there for it. Anti had interacted with the auras. Fucking hell. 

“You  _ demons  _ need to learn moderation,” Wil is lecturing. “All the time, it’s ‘fight to the death’ or ‘extremely happy’ or so damn down you snap.”

_ Or,  _ Dark thinks idly,  _ so greedy you’re desperate. So alone you sleep with your enemy. _

“Well, I’m not going to die,” he growls. “Thanks for your help, dear, now please leave and let me sleep.” 

“Fine, sweetheart, if you want  _ alone  _ time, I can do that.” The lunatic continues a meaningless bluster as he bumbles out towards the world, abandoning Dark to silence. 

The first thing he does is let himself cry. He should’ve been stronger, smarter, able to handle it alone. He has never been reduced the way he was reduced to his auras, not even against Anti. In that, they’d been evenly matched. Today (today?) he’d been taken down to that level and then shoved past his limit, using every drop of power to survive the blast. The desire for company, the foolish pride, the need to cry, all these weak humans things he should be able to discard with ease. He’s playing the long term game, not short-term gratification. Build a name for himself no one can dispute, not enter in pissing contests with lesser demons. 

The long game has always been lonely.  _ It doesn’t have to be. _ Dammit, he’s going to screw everything over if he thinks like that. But there’s that stupid human longing sucking the vitality from his chest, irrationality asking What If. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _

The second thing he does is get up. He tosses Anti’s jacket on the bed. He showers, he gets clean clothes, he draws on liner in precise points. The soaked suit is hanging dry on a rack. He walks to his kitchen, spotting the hoodie on the way. Passing it, he hesitates. Then he keeps walking, getting food. Going through the motions to take care of himself. He doesn’t have to think about anything. He does too much of that as it is. 

He passes Anti’s jacket again on the way to brush his teeth. He’s home, he has plenty of his own coats in the closet.  _ Don’t be sentimental.  _ He continues to the bathroom. 

When his routines are over, his body weighs him down. It’d been through a lot in the past few days, and now it was nagging at him to collapse and let the muscles mend. Returning to Mark would be ideal save for the endless questions the boy would ask, and besides, going outside the borders requires effort. He slips under black covers, sinking heavily, aching. Anti’s jacket still lies at his feet. Dark stares at it for far too long. 

“Fuck,” he finally says.  _ Fine. _ Let this be his lowest moment. When he recovers, he can be embarrassed and make up some bullshit cover-up. He puts it on, flipping the hood up and zipping. Trace scents of rain and blood still linger on the cloth, but they’re overpowered by copper and spice. He shuts his eyes, relaxing. This has never been a smell associated with secure, but it’s safe. It envelopes him, tucking him into a protected bubble. Sleep comes in a soothing whisper. 


	4. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooo Anti's catching feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love being a film major. Just not now, when I want to write.

Google was a fun bastard to chase, scared out of their search engine by the virus. Anti pursued the ego halfway across the world before turning back out of boredom and obligation. He wasn’t sure what Dark would do, or what he would remember. Taking on a storm and then carrying him home crossed their previous boundaries of occasional frustrated hookups and general apathy. Anti was playing his own game. He left Dark in his jacket, knowing full well it crossed another line. Dark is weak. Anti saved him. This is the perfect opportunity to get a hold on him before he returns to his manipulative, controlling prime. Anti should be happy at his low state. 

He will push every advantage he has, but there’s still that look…

Red rims, black eyes. Heavy lids and a resigned grip on his jacket. 

It’s because Dark is his prey, it has to be. Because demons don’t reveal anything about their true nature and now he knows something real. Because he spent so much time working his way into Dark’s trust, playing the role, luring him closer. He may be a manipulator, but Anti is a deceiver. Dark had taken him to his home on the borders one night when they were both high off murder and drunk on horror, claiming convenience and closest medical care. He slept next to him later, waiting. And when Dark fell asleep, he could’ve killed him. Something held him back. Just because it was too soon, not complete enough of a demolition. Killing someone in their sleep is something Dark would do. Anti wants him to be fully aware when his knife slashes his throat.  _ Drip drip, motherfucker. _

When he returns to that home so carefully hidden away, the house is quiet. Differences are obvious; dishes have been moved, doors have been opened and closed. Dark had been awake. Anti moves through the rooms, glitching through the door so the opening latch won’t make a noise. Dark is asleep, even breaths slow and steady. A smile invades Anti’s mouth at the sight of his jacket on the other. He had kept it on. 

Anti slips into the unoccupied side of the bed, watching Dark. He’s never been able to sneak up on him before. Figures it would take a near-death experience to drain him enough for the glitch to nudge him unnoticed. Anti’s hood casts a shadow across the void’s face, loose black waves spilling from it. He sleeps like a cat, curled on his side in a loose parody of how he looked on the battlefield. His liner is once again present, clean black lines framing his long lashes. Even so relaxed, there’s a subtle difference between him and Mark, some feeling of depth. They look nearly identical, yet there’s an air to Dark that makes Mark seem like a child still waiting to experience the world. 

Anti knows there’s that difference between him and Sean as well. Something sharper, something not quite right. He is such an odd creature. 

Most of the time, Anti initiated nights with Dark because Jack replaces him. He hardly gets to come out anymore, half the time forgotten. It isn’t like Anti stopped pressing or talking. He’s started talking more, showing up more, but Jack ignores him. Sure, Anti can go out on his own, immerse himself in demonic politics and cause chaos in technology ( _ Observer  _ and a few other games were fascinating to ponder). But he can’t explain it, his sharp dislike for having to go out alone. And what he can explain, he hates to admit. 

Anti lets Dark’s soft exhales measure out his own breathing. He ran off the excess energy chasing Google to India, reigning in his pixels until they twitched at a normal frame rate. It was fantastic, but the five hour energy lightning bolts have worn off. He sets his knives on the bedside table, within reach. Dark’s intoxicating scent clings to the blankets.  _ Inhale. Hold. Exhale.  _ Settle into place, no need to distort or transport. His buzzing hushes. He lets his head lower onto a pillow, eyelids heavy. It’s a safe place. Why not get comfortable?

He falls asleep at some point. Hazy, flickering dreams that leave him as quickly as they appear about nothing in particular. A lulling doze. Hours or minutes could pass. Time is flexible here anyways. 

Hours or days in this drifting state, he feels something other than warm blankets on him. Unsure whether this is still part of a dream, he looks down. Dark’s hood has fallen back, his curls a mess as he uses Anti as a pillow. His shirts have ridden up, exposing a warm expanse of lower back and side. His ear rests over his heart. And Anti, for his part, has his arms wrapped around him to keep him there.

_ Fuck me.  _ He’s supposed to have this under control. He’s supposed to keep himself distant. If Dark trusted him, that was his mistake, his undoing, not Anti’s. 

But still, there’s that image. Those eyes. The realization that he’s very much alone against the world. Anti’s hand on Dark’s side, feeling it rise and fall in a docile pattern. His heart beating lightly under his palm, a sedated metronome. 

He glides his fingers down Dark’s arm curved loosely across his chest. Here in the borders his skin lost the human glow. Anti gently tugs Dark’s ashen hand up, inspecting his veins. They run red and blue without his guise. He’s clawed them open before. His digits, an undertone green, skim the lines of the other's palm, mapping the faint scars there. Anti gave him some of those scars. He wonders why humans hold hands. His thumb unbends Dark’s inactive fingers, toying with them, lining his up to compare. The older demon’s hand is surprisingly smooth, the result of using power instead of weapons. Anti’s developed callouses from nicking them with knives and brawls. These palms wore down a storm and slayed scores of demons. He had been two minutes away from TJ's breaking point. The thought draws their hands up to brush lips against knuckles. 

If Dark was awake, this would be impossible. His palm wouldn’t be cool and lax, but tense and ready to fire. Then again, Dark’s never slept on him before. Anti stops wondering why humans hold hands. 

Dark is completely at his mercy right now. His heart quickens at the thought. It’s never been like this, not even in those brief moments during their first fight when Dark went slack under Anti’s hands to avoid asphyxiation. Even on the wet battlefield, Dark had been able to look him in the eye and curse his name. It’s never been this absolute. Only when he sleeps.

A barely audible sigh makes him look down, but Dark slumbers on, blankets draped around his hips. Anti replaces his hand, more uncertain than ever. Though he’s asleep, though he hasn’t spoken five words to him in the past three weeks, Anti feels like he can see Dark better, like they just had an entire conversation with no holds barred. As if he had been watching him in 720 but updated to 1080. 

They have been in this bed before. They’ve had no strings attached angry sex here. But this is the first time, Anti thinks out of nowhere, that they’ve slept together. The first time that Anti has had the complete upper hand. He wants to see it, suddenly. He wants to see Dark recognize this shift, but there’s something holding him back from waking him quite yet. Damn him if it’s because of how Dark looks soft around the edges and settled like deadweight across his body. Sentimentality was never his reasoning for anything, and yet... _ Fuck me.  _

Anyways, Dark won’t recover for a while. Might as well enjoy this now, and then drink in Dark’s conscious helplessness later. Besides, all that obsession with control ends here. There's no way Anti will ever let him forget who allowed him to survive the fight, and even less chance he'll let that illusion of influence bind him into actual subordination. No, Dark's control ended. And what fun it will be to break the news...


	5. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooo Dark's catching feelings. Also, longer chapter because s m u t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW I hope y'all know this isn't the healthy relationship you should want and you deserve. It is fiction, it is only fiction.

Dark wakes when the body under him jerks. Inquiries flood his mind ( _ what’s the danger? How do I kill it?).  _ He pushes himself up, blinking bleariness from his eyes. Anti’s breathing too fast, starting to flicker, Adam’s apple bobbing above his wound. He’s having a nightmare.  _ Oh, that’s all.  _

It isn't Dark’s job to wake him up and pull him close. Anti would probably stab him if he did, and they've never been that type of intimate. But Anti technically saved his life. Dark owes him this little reprieve from suffering. And more importantly, he really doesn't want to get kicked. 

“Anti,” he calls, shaking his shoulder. Anti’s fingers dig into his waist. “ _ Anti. _ ”

The glitch jumps awake, grabbing Dark’s arm. For a second they stare at each other. Rumpled with sleep, tangled limbs, even more entangled scents.  _ We look like teenagers,  _ Dark muses. Anti calms down, head thunking back with a quiet expletive. He solidifies. Everything sharp about him still resonates in clear definition, but there’s something different when he relaxes, something at ease despite having a malignant demon on him. Neither of them let go.  _ So sleeping on him did make him more comfortable with invading personal space. Good.  _

Anti's fingers play with the hem of the hoodie. Dark's lazily trace the graphic on Anti's shirt as he tries to think. He doesn't know what he wants from Anti anymore. When they met, he wanted to subdue him. When they fought, he wanted him subordinate. When they went out, he wanted control. He has all that now. He knows where to strike to bring him down, how to talk to get information. He's known for a while. Now the glitch lets him close enough to kill. Why doesn’t he just do it already? 

A large part of him wants Anti to kill him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel the way he does now, so weak and pathetic because he knows he’s rationalizing sentimentality and it’s going too far. Can he use intimacy as a weapon? Of course. But there’s that nagging longing, the same one that made him put Anti’s jacket on and made his scent comforting. Fighting his usual spite is the shift of obsession, the most dangerous thing he knows he can’t help. He swallows a bit of guilt and a lot of regret for ever letting himself know what Anti’s heart felt like against his ear. Protection, that’s what he craves. He wouldn't have survived the storm without it. He knows in every fiber of his being it’s an impossible desire, but that’s never stopped his fixations before. They entered into this without emotions. Now they may be the death of him.

There is one thing he isn’t sure of. “Why did you come to the fight?” 

Anti blinks at him, caught off guard. “You already asked that. And punched me.”

It’s Dark’s turn to be off guard. “I never asked you.” 

“Yes you did. Two of you did.”

The auras. There’s nothing else he could be referring to. Anger and indignation rises in his throat, surprisingly harsh. He can’t remember what they said or did. He doesn’t remember punching Anti. He isn’t the twins, and they aren’t autonomous. Is that how Anti thinks of him? As a conglomerate of several people that shift prevalence with his moods? Anti is the closest thing he has to an equal. Maybe that’s why it matters this much to him. If Anti thinks he’s just a bunch of broken humans playing with powers…

“You don’t remember.”

“They are echoes, Anti.” He wants to hit him. He doesn’t. His palm presses harder on Anti's chest, willing him to drop the idea of auras as entities. “They aren’t significant. They aren’t real.”

“The bruise is real enough,” Anti mutters. 

“Answer the question!” Dark snaps. The spike in volume shocks both of them. He didn’t expect to be so fed up so quickly. Yet here is this little glitch, destroying his dignity, sharing his bed, wrapping him in his jacket. Not answering one damn question. He needs  _ something  _ out of that fight.  _ Something  _ to verify that it wasn’t a failure, that he is still alive. 

Anti’s mismatched eyes narrow. His pixels pull his outline again, his hold on Dark’s supporting arm slipping to his wrist, his other hand pressing into Dark’s waist. “Do you really want to know, Dark?” 

He mirrors the scowl. “If you have something to share, Anti, I’m listening.” 

“Then  _ listen. _ ” He tightens his grip and shoves, flipping them over. He pins Dark’s wrist above his head, half-crushing him under his weight. Teeth sink into his neck, drawing a few beads of blood swept away with his tongue. Dark strains against the hold, instinct trying to shove the intrusion away.  _ Claimed.  _ That's all that comes to mind as throbbing pain ignites his spine. For a second, Anti’s hold is too harsh, too suffocating. Slight panic comes out of nowhere when pushing back gains nothing but reinforced bite.

Then Anti growls, glowering. “I came because I wanted to watch you die.” Dark stops struggling, returning the look without showing a hint of his anxiety. Anti gets into his face, smirking. “I came because you were losing. Because the high-and-mighty Darkiplier was finally gettin’ what was coming to him.”

“Then why did you interrupt?” Dark sneers. 

“My turn,” Anti says, fisting the fabric at Dark’s side. “Why are you still wearing this?”

Dark scoffs, trying to play it off. “Eager, are we?”

“You know that’s not what I’m askin’, ya prick.”

“Semantics. It was convenient. Why did you interrupt?”

“Because you’re  _ mine. _ ” Anti meets him in a rough, possessive kiss. “No one else gets to see you like this,” he says against his lips, biting. The tang of his own blood kickstarts his heart and body. A force of habit molded by adrenaline and bad decisions. “No one else gets to knock you over and make you beg. If anyone gets to kill you, it’s  _ me. _ ” 

He has him. Dark laughs, making Anti pull away. “If you kill me, little glitch, you’ll be all alone.”

“Like you?” If he hadn’t been near death yesterday, he would throw Anti across the room. The retort stings like a mother, leaving him at a loss. But Anti wasn’t in a battle. His pixels still hum with energy. Dark can hardly feel his auras. He’s at the mercy of Anti’s whims. The threat of another fight loomed over every interaction they've had, and the last had been so close...this demon can inflict as much damage as the small army Dark wrestled yesterday. With him, the possibility of death was real. Every mocking laugh, every kinky slice fired up a small, exhilarating fear. Yet now, the threat is too real. Anti could kill him. He just hasn't. Had brought him home and dressed him in dry clothes. An inexplicable whim. 

The current whim goes in a vastly different direction than he thought it would. Anti glances down. A chapped palm cups his cheek, eyes running over his features. “Why do you always wear that stuff?” he drawls. “To be different?”

He covers Anti’s hand with his own, drawing them away from his face. “Why did you slit your own throat? To be edgy?”

“How come you never show up in Mark’s videos?”

“Why do you show up in Jack’s?”

“What were you thinkin’ going out there alone?”

“How much did you enjoy killing the storm?”

“Why’re you really wearing that?”

“Are you ever going to realize I’m not answering your questions?”

“Do you realize I’ll never stop asking?”

“I’ll trade an answer for an answer.”

Anti cocks his head, calculating. His body is getting comfortable on Dark’s, the warmth between them addictingly cozy. He still hasn’t let him go, keeping them flush, their breathing starting to sync. “You ask first.”

“Describe your nightmare?”

Anti bites his cheek but doesn’t look away. “You, dead.”

“That's not a description, Anti.”

He lags, frustration and defiance quickly superimposing each other before he's solid again. “Fockin’ hell, I didn't get there in time, alright? I was the only one alive on that field.” 

He had a nightmare about being alone. More specifically, he had a nightmare about losing him. Dark wants to feel ecstatic about the scope of his influence, how important he's made himself to Anti. He does, the gratification clicking something primal, and yet that satisfaction is tinged with something else. He’s never had someone who feared losing him. One might mistake the notion as Anti caring. 

“My turn. Why did you really keep my jacket on?” 

Dark grits his teeth before forcibly relaxing. It takes a lot to unlock his emotions and he knows he can’t rely on the glitch, but Anti answered his question. Bright eyes are watching, holding him accountable. He could try to bluff, working around it, but he’s in it too far. Anti would know and it would only make things worse. And anyways, the best lies contain little truths. “It smells like you.”

Anti kisses him and Dark is about to protest out of principle. He doesn’t. The kiss is unexpectedly affectionate, disarming him. It’s turns slow, light, curious. Nothing intrusive, focused on the participants instead of the activity. Neither is willing to back down first, but he's still recovering, growing dizzy from holding his breath. Anti leans back after an eternity to check his reaction, parting with a faint wet sound. Their breaths mingle, noses bumping into each other. For once, he can’t think of anything to say.  _ I don’t want to be alone. I almost died. I might lose everything. You’re going to get too close. I hate you. I need you.  _

He pulls him in, kissing him back, exploring. Anti catches on, tugging on his bottom lip. There's still an urgency to it all that makes him hungry, hands pressing him closer. This digital hiccup, this chaotic entity bound in lithe form, has seen him at his weakest and brought him home. Anti brushes Dark’s hair from his face, angling it to kiss him better. Something about it says  _ I’ve got you. _ He roams over the curve of the glitch’s shoulders, feeling where lean muscle meets bone. He needs him. He hates him and he needs him.  _ Prove to me I survived. Prove to me I can stop fighting for five damn seconds.  _

Anti’s fingers leave his cheek to attend the jacket’s zip. He trails it down. When it gets to the bottom he clicks it apart with a small  _ snick!  _ Dark feels heat flood his face. What is he, a fucking virgin? He's had sex before. Hell, he's had sex with  _ Anti  _ before. It shouldn't be a big deal. Even when Anti slips his hand under his shirt, skimming over his scars, his ribs, his heart, the fabric rising as it's caught on his wrist. Even when Anti's eyes darken as his breathing picks up under the touch, drinking in his racing heart under his palm. Knowing where this is going, how he’s already surrounded by that delicious scent, and still complacently permitting it... It has to be the nerves from doing this with Anti for the first time. He doesn't know how good or bad Anti will be at topping.

_ Bullshit,  _ the majority of his brain tells him. He ignores it. 

Rough fingers graze a nipple, his body jerking. Lips reassure his, those damned fingers playing with the sensitive nub until he whines. Anti’s skin loses clarity in static.  _ No, stay.  _ Dark loops his arms around him, securing him in place. He squirms under Anti’s weight, lower halves lining up. Fuck, they're both hard, Anti sucking his lip and rubbing against him. The friction is no relief, but it's enough to keep him sane. Barely. 

His pulse flutters, his body starting to sweat under Anti, still fully clothed beneath the blankets. He feels like they've been here for ages. It never went this slowly before. Anti’s touch lingers, the pinprick thrill of static humming in Dark’s skin at each point of contact. Every move calculated, aiming to break him down. Lust pools in his gut, stirring with each zing. He lets a hand slide up to Anti’s cheek, needing progress.  _ I want you.  _ The realization seizes his thoughts which he hurriedly locks down.  _ I want to know he won't kill me. That's it. _

Anti’s tongue traces his mouth, which he reluctantly opens. The glitch dips in to taste him, feeling him up at the same time. It’s the same attention given to his blades, memorizing the feel, the shape, the lethality. Tracing the edge of a knife. Because even trapped under him, bundled in smooth skin and soft fabric and sleepy sass, Dark’s still able to kill him. 

It’s just that he won’t. And neither will Anti. 

The thought turns him on. So much power lies in restraint. In being able to let Anti lead, knowing he won’t need to intervene. He doesn’t have to lead to maintain control over the situation. He can have fun.

Anti skims lower, fondling his side, his waist, his hip. He ducks from the kiss to watch his hand continue, Dark’s pants slung low enough for his waistband to show.  _ Like a teenager,  _ Dark thinks, letting Anti guide his thighs apart, cradling him in between. 

“You are,” Anti starts distractedly, hooking his clothes, “So sexy like this.”

“Isn’t that the point?” 

Anti’s mouth twitches into an infectious smile. “Yeah, cheeky son of a bitch.” The last part is mumbled, his attention on each new inch of exposed flesh as he begins peeling away the barrier of clothing. Before he can get very far, he freezes. His eyes get wide. 

Dark cocks a brow at him. “What-”

Anti’s face ducks to the side and he sneezes, glitching out. Dark bolts up, looking around for him. Knives still on the table. Door still shut. Other than his own breathing, there’s no sound, no movement. Then a body appears on the floor at the foot of the bed, shocked. 


	6. Screwed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you can't laugh with your partner, get out of there. Also more s m u t, but Anti's POV!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely did not totally use my five years of tech as a basis for glitch terms etc.

When the static clears from his vision, it takes a second to reorient himself. Fuck, when was the last time he transported unintentionally? Anti and Dark stare at each other for a solid minute in silence, then Dark fucking loses it at Anti’s expression. 

“Did you-just sneeze-yourself out-of reality?” he asks, laughing so hard he’s nearly crying. His hand flies to his mouth as if to contain it, little gasps escaping. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” Anti’s saying, but his own giggles bounce around the room. He’d completely forgotten to ground himself like he always has to when he sneezes or hiccups. Blame it on an intriguing distraction. He can’t help losing it a little too.

His eyes, however, remain fixated on Dark. He’s never seen him crack a genuine smile before, much less in stitches. His shoulders shake, his eyes squeezed shut, his arm across his stomach to clutch his side. Mark’s voice is charismatic on its own, Dark’s deeper version more so, but his laugh? His laugh could pull sailors from the sea and Catholics from their pews. Of fucking course it’d be something unintentional that got him. And just when things were going somewhere too. 

Dark is adorable from this angle. Shirt ridden up, the v of his hips peeking from his sleep pants, hair tousled. He looks at Anti again, eyes shining and crinkled at the corners. He’s still hidden behind his hand. Anti wants to see his mouth when he laughs. 

He’s so incredibly screwed. 

“Do you often sneeze yourself into random places?” And his tone is so playful.  _ Screwed. _

“Accidental transportation? I don’t know her.” 

“She seems to know you well enough.” 

Anti rolls his eyes. “Like you’ve never done that.” Dark shakes his head minutely. He shifts to his knees, folding his elbows on the edge of the bed. He can see better up close. “Seriously. Never?”

Dark’s hand drops to his lap. Oh god, there it is.  _ A smile. A whole smile.  _ “If I did, I don’t remember. Must be a glitch problem.” 

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’ve never sneezed myself across a room.” 

“You should try it sometime. It’s fantastic. Might even be fun. You know what fun is, right?” 

Dark mock-scoffs. “Fuck you.” 

Anti yanks him down by the strings on the jacket hood. “I’m going for the opposite, actually,” he murmurs, kissing him. It’s rapidly becoming one of his favorite things to do. 

Dark grips his shirt, peering through his lashes with a little smirk. “Then get back here and finish what you started.” The look jolts something in him, refueling the fire up his spine. Dark always feels like a burn when he’s awake and locked onto a target. 

He encircles his middle to scoot him towards the edge, making it easier to free those gorgeous legs from their cottony prison. Dark’s features tense the slightest bit when Anti does so.  _ He’s recovering. Slow down _ . His hands massage his calves as he licks into Dark’s mouth, detouring to his thighs, wrapping them around him. That burning touch urges him on through it all. The owner groans, bare hips seeking friction. Anti lays him back, prowling over him and licking over the bite he left earlier. Revenge for their first time. A reminder for their next. 

He hears Dark’s breathing quicken. Hands pull his shirt over his head, tossing it away to access more skin. They divert to his jeans. This is more like what they’re used to. It’s always a need, quiet and efficient for both. But that’s not what Anti wants. He finally has Dark under his thumb, subject to his decisions. Reaching for him, holding him close. He wants to take his time savoring what he slayed a storm for.  _ Take him slow.  _

He gently but firmly pins Dark’s wrists above his head, nipping under his ear. “What’s your rush?” he smirks. Dark twists his wrists, testing. The look he gets is scorching. 

“Why do you insist on finally having patience when it’s most inconvenient?” is the reply. 

“Oh I'm sorry, did you want something?” The cheeky reference upgrades the scorching look to an eye roll and an irritated huff. 

“I'm not in the mood for games.” 

Anti sucks a bruise on his collar, right above the shirt. It drives Dark nuts, he knows, because unless he does every button up on his shirts everyone will be able to see it. No popped collar can hide what's front and center - or front and slightly to the right. 

“That's a shame,” he says. He nuzzles into his shoulder, tilting up to say quietly “Why don't you tell me what you  _ are  _ in the mood for, exactly?” There's the glare. Anti smiles wickedly. “Words  _ are  _ your territory, Darkimoo. Why not use them?” 

“You’re infuriating.”

“Aw, babe.” He works on another hickey, higher up and highly visible. The room grows hazy, the sheets sticking to them. Mildly annoyed legs drag them out of the way. Desperate hips press into his until he shifts just out of reach. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“You’re so cute when you threaten me.” 

He feels more than hears the resigned sigh from the body beneath him. A glance at his expression, and Anti can’t look away. Every promise of surrender is in his pout, bashful defeat in his eyes. “I can’t convince you properly like this,” he says. “Let me touch you. Let me show you what I want.”

It hits him like a fist to the face. Holy shit does he want to see that. Look at him, he’s so needy, so fuckable, the picture of ravishment. And he really doesn’t want to restrain him forever. That melting touch on him,  _ showing him,  _ that’d be so hot. Dark sucking his fingers, features screwing up when he's open and needy, the look on his face when he realizes he's no longer calling the shots. And  _ oh god,  _ Dark  _ surrendering,  _ letting all the pretenses go to hell and crying his name...All he has to do is let go.

Until he flickers, the eye contact breaking just enough to see the russet glint. Suddenly he remembers why Dark is so dangerous. 

“Lovely try. But you still have to tell me.”

The shift is immediate. His gaze narrows, voice dipping into a low, frustrated growl. He tests his grip one more time, unable to do much of anything. Anti waits. Dark shuts his eyes and lets out a long breath. “Fuck me.”

“What?” 

Of course he heard him perfectly well, despite how quietly the other had asked. Well, not asked, more like ordered. But this is Anti, and he doesn’t do well with following orders. He  _ might,  _ however, be inclined to adhere to wrenched-out pleas. 

“Insufferable,” Dark whispers. 

Anti sighs, nipping the sensitive spot right under his ear. “I know you can do better than that,” he breathes, teasing once with a quick grind down.

The older demon’s jaw sets, seeming to come to a decision. Those gorgeous eyes open, locking him in place with liquid determination. His words are velvet-wrapped steel when he gets as close as he can to the glitch. “You have me, Anti.” He urges him near, emitting a sweet hum of satisfaction when they finally line back up. “You have me right where you want me. I’m tired of waiting, I’m tired of talking. Take what is yours, make me scream your name. But if you don’t stop being a goddamned tease in the next five seconds, I’ll kill you.”

He has to kiss him in that moment, he has to. He made Dark beg. He made him laugh and he made him ask to be fucked. Dark kisses him back, arching to feel him, everything inviting him in. Not just needful, not only an arrangement. He’s unwilling to name it. He just knows he craves more. 

He transports for the sake of time, finding the slick in its usual place. Patience is a fleeting thing. As soon as he lets go, Dark’s hands are on him, getting rid of his remaining clothes and running through his hair. He still tries to keep Dark’s condition in mind while wanting him so bad it almost hurts. Not so rough, don’t push too fast. 

It’s increasingly difficult to hold back when Dark is falling apart under his hands. Indulgent moans and sinful whines resonate in Anti’s ears as he opens him up, stretching him. Greedy thighs press into his sides. His fingers start a measured pace, brushing over a spot that makes the other demon swear. His heart races in his ears at the discovery.  _ Take him apart.  _ He tries a slow circular movement, rubbing it over and over. Swearing turns into low sounds of encouragement. 

“I’m ready,” Dark informs him after a minute, starting to move with it. When Anti doesn’t stop, he tightens his grip, hips stuttering. “Anti.” But he keeps going, reveling in every second of this slow destruction. Dark’s breathing gets ragged, his grip faltering. Anti keeps pumping slowly, working him open enough for three, ignoring the heavy gasps and low profanity spilling from the other. Dark’s flushed cock glistens with precum between them. He starts jabbing three fingers in a brisk rhythm, hot muscles trembling around them. A slutty sound rips from the demon.  _ Got you.  _ “Fucking...damn you, what are you waiting for?” Dark whispers, bucking into it helplessly to try to get more pressure, more constancy, more in.

Watching him sweat, Anti’s jacket slung low around broad shoulders and the sleeves bunched in his hands, is the most erotic thing he’s seen since...he can’t remember. They’re both more than ready, their lower halves slick with arousal. He’s just being a shit. He’s too busy taking pride in making Dark leak without touching his dick to actually do something else. 

Look at him, fucking himself on his fingers like a goddamned whore, rich and shameless moans straining for relief.  _ He likes it rough, _ he smiles.  _ All mine.  _ “I bet I could make you cum just from this,” he murmurs, russet eyes pointedly not looking at him. 

“Shut up.” Dark’s voice is taut and half-annoyed, half-desperate. He’s already flush with heat. The semblance of control makes Anti determined for Dark to lose it. 

He catches the hem of Dark’s shirt and drags it up, letting him see every line, every scar. Faint lines from his human, sharper blade marks, odd divots where bullets had once been. The body Dark chose had been through hell before the demon had even inhabited it. Its sensitive muscles jump as the cool air meets skin. He brushes his calloused fingers over each scar, following them to their ends, teasing responsive areas. All the while, Anti scissors him open, ruthlessly bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Anti,” Dark warns through his teeth. He squeezes Anti’s bicep hard enough to bruise, reluctantly glancing at him to glare. Anti smirks and curls his fingers. Dark’s head jerks back with a stifled cry, his body shivering and a breath away from falling apart. A twist of his fingers could make that happen if Anti so chose. Dark's completely at his mercy.

A shudder rocks through Anti, building up the tension compiling in his abdomen for the last few minutes.  _ Shit.  _ Too close. He has to focus before he does something really embarrassing. 

An overworked whimper escapes the other demon when he removes his fingers. Anti dips in to taste the sound. They kiss until Dark can breathe again, gathered enough to be irritated. He skates a hand down Dark’s side, settling on his lower back and lifting to help ease himself forward. “I’ve got you,” he purrs. Then he’s nudging ahead, Dark  _ giving  _ under the pressure, pushing into the fevered body under him. He buries his face in his shoulder, groaning at the sensation. Dark’s own wordless plea loses itself in a hitched breath. He slides in without pausing, every inch of his cock squeezed but taken by this panting form with lined, exquisite eyes. 

He can feel both their hearts beating at a frantic tempo. They breathe.  _ Fuck, he’s so tight. _

Legs readjust around his waist. Lips tug his ear. A low command. “Move.” 

He could take him, oh, he could take him. He loves it when Dark makes it rough, cutting off his gasps and swallowing his moans. Against the wall is one of his favorite places because of the force it brings out. But he wants to draw it out. He wants to drive him crazy over hours of having him. He loves the idea of taking all his time.  _ Because it drives him mad,  _ he thinks.  _ Bullshit,  _ a part of him says. He ignores it.

Anti pulls almost all the way out, the pressure and warmth and wetness too much and not enough.  _ Gently now _ . He burrows in smoothly, messily catching Dark’s mouth to feel the noises there. Taking his time. Dark fidgets under him, visibly unsettled by the pace. Each steady roll of hips hitches their breath. When was the last time either of them had slow sex? The kind where no reaction was lost, where every nerve became overly sensitive? 

The fabric of his jacket cuff feels oddly abrasive against his back when Dark slings his arm there, trying to pull him faster, harder, at the pace  _ he  _ wants. He still doesn't get it. Anti stops completely, tightens his hold on Dark's hip to pin it down. For a moment, they stare at each other. 

“What?” Dark hisses, his usual bite tired. 

“You're mine.” 

He has the nerve to roll his eyes. “I fail to see how that qualifies you to stop-”

Anti digs his nails in, leaving scratches. It shuts Dark up immediately. The next words are against the bruised pulse point on his neck. “Start acting like it.” 

Something shifts then, and it's more than realization in brown eyes. Anti can see every plan formulating and quickly evaporating just by holding his gaze. Minutes pass by as they stare each other down, the challenge laying thick in the air. Dark clenches his jaw. He releases a breath. Then the hard grip on his back subsides and he closes his eyes. “Fine,” he says quietly. 

It's surrender. Anti can't believe it. It has to be manipulation or something, Dark has a plan to flip them as soon as his guard is down,  _ something _ . But no, when he starts his rhythm again, the body under his relaxes into it. Cool sweat trickles down his body. It’s profoundly  _ visceral.  _ Languid kisses wherever convenient, a deliberate rhythm rocking in, sliding out. He does something right and Dark's chest jerks, a small noise cut short when he bites his own lip. Anti risks letting go of his hip to brush his thumb over it. “Don't hold back, Dark, let me hear you, let me hear how good it feels.” 

And he fucking does. 

A filthy mewl escapes from Dark every time Anti hits his prostate again. He dips his tongue into the hollow of his throat, licking a line up salty skin to the mouth that opens at his direction. The other demon is so perfect, letting him have what he wishes, his tight ring wantonly taking each deep thrust. Uneven exhales wash hotly over his skin. He keeps up his rhythm, extracting every sound and sensation from the beautiful demon under his thumb. 

Fingers mess up his hair, feel across his shoulders and skim over the slit on his neck. Familiarizing. That’s what he's doing, isn't it? Giving him attention. Anti pushes a little faster, meeting little resistance and extracting a desperate sound from the other.  _ Fuck, he’s letting me have him, letting me. He’s stopped fighting. _

Dark’s eyes are dilated when Anti finds them next. Still a human iris, but no longer brown. They’re pitch black. An amusing idea seizes him that Dark is completely greyscale like this. His lips are swollen from kissing, gaze insatiable, back arched in surrender. He caresses his cheek, thumbing the wing of his somehow intact liner.  _ How the hell is this still precise?  _ A small jerk of the other’s hips interrupts the thought, his heat quivering around his dick with a cut off cry.  _ Fuck.  _ He’d been distracted, he’d thrust in too forcefully. But how the hell is he supposed to stay measured when the demon he killed for looks like that? 

Slow sex is a great idea to start with but it’s awful once it’s been a few minutes, his senses are heightened, and his very nature is a rapid framerate. For a moment, he wonders if slower framerates would stutter and be even worse. Fingers curl into his shoulders as he’s distracted again, Dark swearing without volume against his lips.  _ Damn it.  _

Well, fuck it. He’s coiled like a wire and the friction of resistant muscles only adds to the arousal sitting firmly in his gut. Every small shift of the impossibly close body sends a fire up his spine. Dark’s impatient anyways, the dirty little slut. Might as well give him what he craves.

A wicked smirk and a teasing “Say my name,” is the only warning he gives before shoving in, fluid thrusts turning to deep snaps. Those fingers dig into his skin, soft sounds sharpening into choked wails. Dark’s head tilts back, his pale throat littered with bitemarks and bruises.  _ He’s gorgeous when he’s submissive,  _ Anti notes, mesmerized. Half-baked plans formulate, most about what he could do, how long they could go, how utterly he wants to have Dark. Then he forgets about thinking and just feels. So close, so close and yet not quite there-

Dark finally caves, bucking up to meet him like a whore.  _ His  _ whore. Black eyes flick down to where they're joined, a deep blush overtaking his features at the sight of Anti fucking him harsh. His hand flies between them but Anti pins it to the mattress. 

“ _ Fuck- _ ”

“I said, say my name.”

He angles up, feeling Dark go rigid. Blunt nails score from his shoulder to his side. “ _ A-Anti. _ ” His name falls so sweetly from him, his release soaking the hem of his shirt. His entire body shudders red and blue as it clamps down on Anti’s cock, the friction spiking all the combined bliss from the sounds and the scratches and the sweat. Anti loses control of his rhythm, grip tightening enough to leave bruises as he fucks Dark through his orgasm. A high, overstimulated whine escapes the other, hands both pushing him away and pulling him in. 

_ Falling apart, I did that to him. I took him apart.  _ He tenses, biting on Dark’s name when he spills. Taking his pleasure, riding it out until he’s empty and Dark’s full. His hips slow, rolling lazily. His hand searches heavily for Dark’s when he releases his grip, feeling his palm, tracing his fingers. They respond, idly playing back. It’s soft and squishy and intimate. A low, weak complaint brings him to a stop.

They don’t do the cuddling thing. They never did. Soft post-coital kisses and spooning are out of their vocabulary in normal circumstances, so it’d be even further from rationality to think about it with an enemy. But now, their worn-out breathing falling in step and their noses centimeters apart, Anti has the unexplainable compulsion to kiss the corners of his eyes. When the sweat cools, he’s still starved for attention, still unwilling to think about how alone he is but unable to put it out of his head. He’s gotten too close. 

Beneath him, Dark's chest rises and falls. His curls are more of a mess than ever, his cheek meeting the pillow while he catches his breath, eyes drifting shut. Blissed-out like this, he resembles the soft human side he so often playacts. He's adorable. 

He's too close.

Dark shifts, sending a sleepy but slightly disgusted look down at the mess. Anti pulls himself together enough to transport again, cleaning it up. When he glances lower, watching his cum seep from Dark’s well-fucked hole, he leaves it, watching it trail down marked thighs. If he had any energy left, fuck, he'd follow those trails with his tongue and work him over until he was crying his name and making more of a mess of himself. The other doesn't react. Dark is busy wriggling his shirt off, tossing it towards the bathroom before slipping back into Anti’s jacket. Black eyes dare him to say something about it. He doesn’t. Anti lays back down beside him, tugging him over by the rumpled lapels. For a minute, Dark resists, evaluating.

“What?” Anti challenges. 

“Never make me wait that long again.” 

Anti rolls his eyes. “I highly doubt I have the patience or the time to ever do that again.” 

“In the rare occasion you do, don’t exercise it.” 

“Fine, I won’t, whatever.”

Only then does Dark let himself be enfolded, settling against his side with his head on Anti’s shoulder. They relax, feeling each other’s heartbeat. It’s strangely reassuring that he’s still sassy, still trying to run things while so delightfully ravished. While so unmistakably his. _ My demon. My jacket, my scent, my sex. He's mine.  _ Anti took him apart and made him cry his name. He counts each pulse, feeling too far away even with him so close. God, when did he get so...sentimental? Obsession isn’t  _ his  _ thing.

Then Dark curves his arm around his middle, the way it’d been when Anti woke to the demon sleeping on him. Anti holds him there. He suppresses the singsong voice in his head that accuses him of sentimentality. Dark suppresses a shiver. Neither demon comments.

A long time passes. Their breathing slows down, though neither sleep. They lay contently. Dark’s heartbeat again marks the time under Anti’s palm. Anti’s pixels settle beneath Dark’s loose grip. Just breathing. 

“I have a proposition for you,” Dark mumbles after a while. 

“Already?”

Dark smirks at the insinuation. “Two propositions, then.”

“Go on.”

“A temporary alliance for getting rid of all the bullshit the two idiots unleashed upon the world. I’ve already whittled the list down to a few particularly troublesome ones left.” He lets that hang in the air, steeping the idea. His thumb traces circles on his side. “No more fields. No more nightmares.”

_ Damn him.  _ He knew when he said it, knew when Dark asked that it would come up again. Of course he’d pick up on the dream’s actual meaning and use it against him. Yet this is a good thing. Dark trusts him not to stab him in the back during a fight. He can use this and do just that whenever Dark becomes more trouble than he’s worth. 

“No more fracturing into echoes.”

Dark stills, the only indication Anti got to him. “No more fractures.”

Anti acts on his impulse and kisses the corner of his glossy eyes. “Allies, then. And your second proposition?”

Something shifts in his partner at that. It’s as if he’s finally found all of Dark’s buttons and pushed them to the point of breaking. Yet the look is vaguely familiar. But...no, it’s nuts. He’s always seen this look aimed at things Dark wants. Things he would kill for. Maybe...Maybe Anti succeeded. Maybe he really flipped their facades and got Dark obsessed with him. 

The second proposition involves Anti staying right where he is. Dark rides him rough, nearly reclaiming their casual feel save for one aspect. Even after all the talk, even after Dark finally screams his name, alliance sealed in a press of lips and hips and foreheads, they still end up sleeping half across each other. 

They don’t do cute cuddling. But this...they can do this. 


End file.
